


Shapeshift in Time

by L_ecureuil



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Childhood, Fighting, Hisoka needs his own tag, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Violence, but it isn't enough, he has his own, honestly, little!Illumi Zoldyck, talk of a child trafficking ring, the zoldycks man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-11-26 12:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20929952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_ecureuil/pseuds/L_ecureuil
Summary: Hercius spoke up then, “Did you run away from home, Illu?”“No,” Illumi said, gazing at the wall, he imaged putting pins in the cracks. “My family put me here. I don’t know for how long.”“Somehow, that’s worse,” Hercius whispered.orLittle Illumi's experience at Heaven's Arena





	1. Into Reality

Illumi hauled his bag up on one shoulder, surveying first the street level of threats before narrowing on the tower which would be his workplace for the unrevealed future.

Already, this wasn’t like any mission he’d been on in his 12 years of living. The point of training in uncontaminated land was to hone his senses. He could normally hear a cricket from three kilometers away, he could tell the type of gun by the sound of its click. This sensory overload, however, wasn’t anything like the sleep deprivation tank back home. The real world was _worse_. 251 stories of worse.

“Master Illumi, the line up is at the fourth entrance to the west. Other than that, we have been instructed to give you no other hints about the nature of your mission. As practice you will be given information as you progress through the transmitter.”

Illumi blinked his large eyes around, mentally counting the needles in his sleeves. He contemplated cheating by setting a needle in this particular driver since he was too new and distant to the family to know what the young master did with his needles. Finally, Illumi decided to hold back. He would do this mission organically. Whatever this mission entailed—until he knew his orders.

Illumi nodded and thanked the driver, knowing that he was too green to mistrust a Zoldyck child. Milluki could break him in, it was beyond Illumi at this point.

It wasn’t difficult to find the fourth entrance lineup. Burly people of all genders stood around, smoking and laughing. They hardly noticed him slip into line.

“I can’t believe we can just make money for beating people up. This is the life, eh?” someone boasted not far ahead, “Between this and fast food, I’m all for this.”

“It’s called Heaven’s arena for a reason. It’s a god given job, and a death sentence but what isn’t in life?” their buddy replied.

Illumi felt a hand hover near his neck then and turned mutely to the person behind him who was about to tap his shoulder. She looked kind enough, tattooed and pierced, scars ran across each of her shoulders. Her blue hair bobbed as she leaned over him.

“Hey kid, you got a light?”

“No,” Illumi replied curtly, shifting to see her without turning himself too drastically.

“You don’t happen to know what line you’re in, do you?”

He stayed quiet. Even his breathing wouldn’t be detected in an empty room at close quarters. He concentrated on lowering his heartrate.

The nosy woman continued, “Because the fair’s over there. This is for the fighting arena recruits.”

“That’s not where my parents deposited me,” he deadpanned, calculating how to shake her off.

“Maybe it’s where they wanted to.”

“Unlikely,” Illumi said. “A fair requires money, and they did not leave me money to spend.”

“So, you’re saying your parents, and there are two of them, decided to drop off their eight-year-old on the steps of an arena?” She said, crossing her arms. “If I had cash myself, I’d adopt you. Lazy parents you’ve got. The worst mine ever did was leave me at summer camp all summer.”

“I’m twelve,” Illumi countered softly, not moving his eyes from the front of the line.

“Are your parents broke, kid?” she said. “You doing this for money?"

Illumi sighed, “I don’t think you know what you’re doing when you insult my family, but it is not making you any more sympathetic to me.”

“I guess all kids think that,” she sniped, “My dad used to drink and I didn’t realize how much of an ass he was until I was old.”

They’d reached the front of the line. Illumi appreciated the speed of their process, letting the woman behind him reach the counter first so he could take a moment to look over the lineup behind him while he looked over the terms.

The arena would not be held liable for his death. There was no space for his parents to sign. Ten years of combat experience written down, he put his name last. This was his first real job without his family calling in. Putting his name down was sealing himself for death or success. He predicted—no, demanded the latter. 

He found his name replaced with a number soon after. 1421.

“You okay, kid?” the woman said, waking him from his stupor.

He nodded once.

“I’m Melissandre, by the way,” she said, following him down the dark tunnel.

“Why are you talking to me?” Illumi asked in a way that asked the exact same question as ‘What do you have to hide, who do you work for.’

Melissandre walked faster to catch up with him. She ducked to speak lowly to him, “The guys behind us were sizing you up. They’re real monsters, I could feel it. As long as I stick with you they won’t come near you. I think they want to snatch you up and drag you into child slavery.”

Illumi pursed his lips, “My name is Illu,” he said. “And don’t worry about them, I noticed them too.”

“You did?” she said. They entered the grand arena, mats of fighting people. Some were bloodied from the exchanges. Illumi smelled it before he saw it.

“I can read lips,” Illumi said, leading them to a seat.

“You weren’t even looking behind you,” she protested, throwing her arms out.

“The building is reflective,” he said shortly like it was too obvious to even say. He finally looked at her, truly looked her in the eye and watched her shutter at the strange void behind his dark, dark eyes. “For pointing them out, as unnecessary as that was, I will offer you minimal advice.”

She nodded, for the first time, she had nothing to say.

“If they near me, let them,” he said as pleasantly as he could. “They deserve that, at least.”

She managed to drag her eyes away from his enough to speak. “Do you know them?” she whispered.

“No,” he said.

“Then… wait, are you a gang kid?”

“No,” he said, running a hand through his short hair. “Melissandre, you seem emotionally attached to my wellbeing, and while I don’t understand why, I think for your own health it would be best if you stopped worrying about me. You’ll sleep better and more likely eat properly if you did not worry for me at all.”

“1421 and 3630 come to mat B!” An organizer announced over the loudness of the gym.

Illumi took in a breath and ambled down to the mat, waiting for a scrawny man to get called as well. He noticed there were no other children in the gym, a quick scan told him he was the youngest. It amused him to think that his four-year-old sibling could do more damage here than most of the techniques he was seeing.

The person he faced had tattoos marking him as a five-time prisoner. He grinned at Illumi, his gold teeth flashing.

“I got the kid, that’s lucky on me, isn’t it, ref?” he said. The referee barely gave him a glance.

“You have three minutes to show us what you can do,” the referee said.

Illumi wondered how he should play it. While it was implied by entering the testing gate was his mission, and thus winning Heaven’s Arena at his best skill level, he hadn’t exactly been told to do so either. A movement caught his eye. He watched a teenager kick their opponent with no technique or class at all and got an idea. Getting hurt didn’t bother him. This was his first time in the real world with other kids. If there were other children in Heaven’s Arena, they were probably at lower levels.

If he ever had to act as a child of a normal developmental level, he should learn from other children.

People were screaming in his direction, but he paid them no heed.

“Go!” The referee said and Illumi.

Illumi dodged the first set of attacks with ease and then purposefully slipped on his foot, letting a set of punches land. He continued to take the punches, eyes glazing over as he found him numbing place.

When the referee told them to stop, Illumi cast his arm out without looking.

“Level 10,” the referee told Illumi, “Level 30,” he said to the man.

Illumi nodded and walked away, paying no heed to the ref calling after him. Illumi knew man 3630 had died behind him, his femoral artery sliced from the tooth of a single claw.

Illumi gave his finger a kitten lick, smiling internally at what he’d done.

The joy of killing lasted a mere three minutes before he thought of how messy it was to literally slice the man. He should have done something which didn’t leave any visible trauma. It was messy leaving evidence like that. He winced thinking of the slap Grandpa Zeno would surely hit him with if he were here. 

Illumi caught his reflection in a window and stared in wonder at his purple and red face. He tilted his head, making eye contact with himself. Pushing a lip out, he tried trembling. He frowned slightly. Trembling was too strong of a motion. Perhaps if he let his hands tremble instead and keep his body still. He tried that instead. It was better. More human. Relatable.

His family had added a new chapter to their training of Illumi. It was one they hadn’t opened for generations due to their fickle genetics: Disguise. His mother and father hadn’t ever learned proper disguise because they never had any use. Grandpa Zeno could disguise himself, but he hadn’t tried too hard in his life, knowing his mere face was enough to have people surrender to him if they knew who he was. This technique worked less and less in old age but age brought its perks as well. Few people went directly for an older gentlemen in a fight.

The disguise chapter was actually taken out from Great-great grandfather Maha Zoldyck’s book. He’d been a master back in the day, his enhancements marvelously blended with the world around. He once told Illumi of the wonderful world of assassins back in his centuries. How they hid but were never found, how their true defense wasn’t fighting but the ambiguity of their identities. Illumi had listened with rapt attention, always a little confused about his own great-great-grandfather’s accent since he spoke like no one living today.

Silva trained Illumi in torture and manipulation, Kikyo taught him pride and fed him poison but Maha taught Illumi extra lessons, ones of his generation. Treasures of nen which hadn’t been spoken about outside their walls for centuries.

_The smaller the object, the betterrrr it takes nen. I knew a Zoldyck who implanted nen in the tips of their hairrrrr._

It wasn’t difficult to stir Illumi’s practical imagination. While he played with Milluki he noted how Milluki liked being a dinosaur or toy he had. He would address himself as it. It was something children often did, Maha told Illumi, surprised that it was even a question. It was called ‘playing pretend’ and it helped them learn about people other than themselves.

Like disguises, except disguises weren’t to learn. Illumi liked the learning element.

That’s where Melissandre found him, making faces into the glass.

“Hey kid, what level?” She said in her typical tough girl voice.

Illumi didn’t startle but blinked up at her in the reflection.

“Ten,” he said.

“Man, your parents must be really stupid if they left you no money,” she said. “I’m on level 40 so I don’t have a private room either. This is going to be tough---wait are those bruises? Kid, let me see your wounds,” she said, “I’ve got a medical kit in my pack.”

He pressed his lips together.

“You don’t like that, do you?” Melissandre said, “You’re right. What you really need is training.”

Illumi was about to refuse when he thought about the fact that this was a learning experience. If he took her training, she might surprise him with technique (unlikely) but more importantly with outside motives. He knew how criminals thought, but this person who seemed to send genuine concern…

“Yes,” he said, bowing his head shily, the way his butlers did, “I am in need of training. I suppose it would make me indebted to you.”

“Maybe,” she said, “But let’s not think about that. You meet me on the 40th floor cafeteria at 4pm and we’ll talk about how to train you.”

“I will see you there,” Illumi said.

__

The 10th floor barracks were obviously where the budget of the building was cut off. He could see the scratches of a rat infestation. There were little to no toiletries. In fact the bathroom was an unkept hole in the ground.

Illumi noted that he was correct about the ages. Many of the people were teens or children, some young women who had likely been told to make money for a don. He wouldn’t be surprised if people died of typhoid here before they even got to the arena.

“A new one,” a child said, pointing him out to who Illumi assumed was their breastfeeding mom. She looked tiredly up and waved.

An elderly gentleman peered at Illumi from his thin reading glasses. “Beat up pretty bad. Do you have any guardian here?”

Illumi didn’t respond, checking the bedsheets of the bed he was assigned to.

“There’s a sink over there if you want to wash up,” the elderly man said, “I’m Hercius.”

“Illu,” Illumi replied curtly.

“Don’t worry about this floor too much. People here aren’t generally trying to climb the ranks. We just need a place to stay and a little food. The Heaven’s arena provides those. It’s better than prison. Prison, we find, is less predictable.”

Illumi cast his eyes to the feeding baby and understood. His mother would rather structure like the Heaven’s Arena than not being able to see her children any day. 

“You look like a doll,” the little boy from earlier said, “People who look like dolls get hurt a lot here,” he said. “Are you a girl?” He was younger than Illumi but nearing his height.

“Sometimes I’m a girl,” Illumi said, “It depends on the disguise,” he said.

“Oh! You like to play pretend too!?”

“Yes,” Illumi said.

“Come away from him, Ogismond. He needs to set up before the others return.” 

But Illumi knew he wouldn’t sleep in this room. It wasn’t properly guarded, it stank of uncleanliness. The angle of his bed was all wrong for watch and he didn’t want to take the bed closest to the window until he knew the dynamic of the 10th floor.

Instead Illumi pretended to claim a cot, setting his small bag on the precarious metal headboard which looked like it had been created from bathroom pipes. He didn’t want any of his bag to touch the sheets as a rule.

Mutely, he shucked off his shirt, setting it aside so he could pour cold water through the bloodstains.

It wasn’t long before a parade of young people marched in. Illumi paid them no mind. He knew by how they walked and communicated that they were a gang, even if it was an ill formed one at best.

“Dude, what’s with the runt?” A young man said, “He’s a baby. Hey, little guy,” he said, lowering himself mockingly to the amusement of his peers. “You here to fight some big boys?”

“Shit, Daren, what the hell is that?” A girl from the group said shrilly.

“What?” Daren said absently.

“Look at his skin?”

Illumi made to put a different shirt on but found Daren keeping it in the air. It took all of his infinite patience to not murder him, his cot as an altar, Daren as the entrail laden pig. Instead, Illumi looked blankly at Daren, saying nothing, and yet meaning everything in his silence. But Daren didn’t look him in the eye, he didn’t read Illumi as an individual or a threat as big people often didn’t.

“You’ve got marks all over. Are these vaccines?”

“Yes,” Illumi said, pushing himself to think fast but all he could come up with was. “I am vaccinated.”

Daren kept looking down Illumi’s arm. This was exactly why the Zoldyck children went out in long clothes even on the hottest days.

“There’s hundreds. What are you vaccinated against?”

“Everything,” Illumi said absently.

“What does that mean?” Daren said.

Illumi pulled his arm away and finished putting his shirt on.

“Who’s your doctor, kid?”

“My mom,” Illumi sad.

“Your mom’s a doctor?”

“No.”

“Then why is she vaccinating you?—wait, these aren’t drugs are they?”

“Some,” Illumi said evenly, twisting from Daren’s grip with more grace than force as to not tip him off.

“Does your mom just stab you everyday?”

“Yes,” Illumi said. He didn’t tell Daren what he truly went through, merely thought it. _My mom put needles in me since before I could remember. It taught me to sit very still. They would see how many I could take without wincing. I became very good at staying still and staying quiet._

_When rivals broke into our house, they would put me in a closet with needles to keep me from making noise until I was big enough to fight. _

“What the fuck man,” Daren said, “Is your mom here?”

“No,” Illumi said blankly, knowing that admitting to a lack of guardian was dangerous for children, but he wanted to see how Daren and his followers would react.

“Thank God, I don’t want to meet someone like that. That’s messed up,” Daren said.

“Daren, I think we should go, he’s creeping me out,” a girl from the team said. She led them out.

Hercius spoke up then, “Did you run away from home, Illu?”

“No,” Illumi said, gazing at the wall, he imaged putting pins in the cracks. “My family put me here. I don’t know for how long.”

“Somehow, that’s worse,” Hercius whispered.


	2. Subtle

Melissandre kicked her foot against the bottom of the table wondering why she let a little kid go anywhere in this place alone. She knew it wasn’t odd in this part of the world for kids to run around without parents but this was a fighting arena, not a corner store, bakery and back.

“Who taught you to fight?” a small voice interrupted her thoughts. It seemed he hadn’t abandoned her. He was even on time, on the dot. How he’d come by so quietly could be chalked up to the loud cafeteria, except it wasn’t even loud. She could hear two other people and a vacuum in the background. Maybe he was just light.

“People in my life taught me,” Melissandre said, “You know, a bit from my dad, some from an ex-girlfriend, my time as a bouncer taught me a lot. That was my last job.”

Illumi blinked owlishly. “What is your preferred fighting style?”

Melissandre laughed roughly, “It’s not about style, kid, it’s about not getting hurt. It’s about keeping your opponent off your back. I’m not about to teach you some deep philosophy, this is basic self-defense. I wish I could teach you more but I’m no expert. This is just important stuff.”

She couldn’t tell what his responding expression meant but she’d go with it.

“C’mon,” Melissandre said. She scraped her chair back, grabbed her water flask and lead him off to the fourth floor training arena. Some people were punching and doing weights in the corner. She was relieved to see the mats were free. She shucked off her jacket and put it aside. “How’s the first floor?”

“It smells,” Illumi said.

“Yeah? Like what?” Melissandre said, she noted how he was already across her, facing off in that little knit vest of his like a miniature professor.

“There are too many smells,” Illumi said, “Rotting animals, possibly in the walls, possibly from a hidden grave somewhere. Breast milk, sweat, black mold,” he hummed, looking at the ceiling, “It smells like disease, but not the supplies to clean it with. Something festering, unclean.”

Whoever had been blessed with such a quiet and patient child only to leave him here of all places deserved serious reeducation. 

Melissandre gaped, “That’s a lot. Are you sure you’re smelling all that?”

“I can write you a list if you require it.”

“I don’t require it, but it might be good to hand to the Heaven’s arena complaint booth,” she said. “This isn’t for homework or anything,” she realized becoming a teacher was boxing her up into a corner of expectations she hadn’t signed up for before Heaven’s Arena. But looking at this kid, she wasn’t sure she’d disagree to them. He was treating her with solemnity and expectation.

“Okay, we’re going to work on holds,” Melissandre said, “I know this is an arena so you’re going to want to learn better fighting but prevention is just has important. You have to be prepared to fight even when you’re not in the ring. I don’t want you picking fights with anyone, but sometimes it’s not a choice.”

Illumi nodded in agreement.

“Since you’re small and not very strong, you’re going to want to use the strongest points of your body. These are your elbows and your knees,” she said, “So if someone has their arms around you, what do you do?”

“I break their arms,” Illumi said, “And then their neck.”

“Easier said then done, kiddo,” Melissandre said, “First step is: you scream.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to warn other people that you’re in danger,” she said, “It’s important to get adults to help you if you’re being kidnapped.” This seemed to perplex him.

“But screaming is showing weakness,” Illumi said, “They are not likely to be causing that much pain.”

Melissandre shook her head, “That’s not it, you want to call for help.”

“I can call for help once I bisect their scull,” Illumi said.

“Yeah, but that’s not the training. You don’t know how to do that yet.”

“Oh,” Illumi said.

“So, you scream and you hit them with your strongest points which are—”

“My elbows or knees,” he echoed.

“And if they let you go,” Melissandre said, “What do you do?”

“I kill them,” Illumi said with such certainty she couldn’t help but huff a laugh.

“Wrong again,” she said, “You run.”

“But wouldn’t that be leaving them as a threat to me later?”

“Yes,” Melissandre said, “But they’re probably not trying to find you specifically, they just want to kidnap or hurt a child. If you run, you’re protecting yourself in that moment.”

“Oh,” Illumi repeated.

Melissandre approached him, “I’m going to lock my arms around you. If I hurt you tell me and I’ll stop. I’m not trying to, but I want you to try breaking out.”

Illumi eyed her but nodded. She put him into a hold and said, “Okay, so I’m going to lift you and I want you to scream and hit me as hard as you can.”

It took a moment for him to respond but when he did he hit at her weakly and said nothing.

“You need to make noise,” Melissandre reminded him.

“I don’t like the screaming part,” he admitted uncomfortably.

Melissandre sighed and put him down. “Okay, um, then you need to yell but maybe it’d be better if you yelled something. Like if you see someone, point out their clothing like ‘you, in the blue shirt’ or something. Try to get people’s attention.”

Illumi, however, was looking directly over Melissandre’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss,” a small lady said, coming up behind her. A child trailed at her side, “Are you teaching children’s self-defense?”

“Not formally,” Melissandre said.

“Well, my son Thomas is going to be here for a while and I worry about having him here. So, I was hoping,” she trailed off.

Melissandre played with her eyebrow piercing. “You want me to teach him self-defense?”

“I can pay,” the woman said, “If it isn’t too much to ask.”

Melissandre thought about the emptiness of her wallet, the mess of a life which lead her to Heaven’s Arena and to all the kids who needed a chance to learn to live without fear.

“I guess I’m doing this, then,” Melissandre said, “Ten jenny a session, every Tuesday at four pm,” she made up on spot. “Illu, what do you think? Do you want to show Thomas what you just learned? You two can be like brothers in arms.”

His dark eyes were set on the other child. He looked fascinated but restrained. “Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter. I've got quite a bit planned but I wanted to make sure that this was updated so nobody would think it's a dead story. thank you so much for all the reviews!


	3. Hazing

When Illumi returned to the tenth floor, he noted that most of his cellmates were out in the shower room or somewhere else entirely.

“The young ones were going to ruin your bed,” Hercius spoke up from his chair in the corner. He shut his book, slipping a piece of leather into the pages. “As is tradition when another young person arrives at level ten, but you seem to have scared them too much. They don’t want you part of their gang, after all.”

“That’s a shame,” Illumi said without meaning it, “They must not be a very good gang if I’m frightening them.”

Hercius clucked his tongue, “I don’t know, you have an energy about you. I can’t quite explain it.”

Illumi tilted his head, “Huh?”

“There’s something about you that feels impressive.”

“Have they done anything else except avoid my bed?” Illumi asked.

“I think they may have told the others to avoid you as much as possible,” Hercius said, “Partially out of fear and partially to confine you. Unfortunately for them, very little will stop an old man from blabbing his mouth on a floor like this.”

“Do you think they would try to confront me physically?” Illumi asked.

“Maybe. Sometimes I hear they like to use a particular janitor’s closet in the east wing.”

“Thank you,” Illumi said.

“Have they been bothering you?”

Illumi shook his head, “I spent time on the fourteenth floor, so I don’t think they had the chance,” he scratched his head.

“Hm, be careful of the upper levels,” Hercius said, “There are much meaner gangs up there. One in particular is known to be terribly cruel.”

__

Illumi had barely stepped out of the common sleeping room before he found himself surrounded by the teens.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” he said, keeping his voice small. Nobody liked a loud voice.

“We were, but we changed our minds,” Daren said, “We thought we’d give you a tour instead.”

That seemed strangely polite.

“It’s bedtime, I need to sleep soon,” Illumi responded.

“It won’t take long, we promise,” Daren said.

Illumi sighed, then looked directly into Daren’s eyes. He watched him flinch back, a small delight in an otherwise tiresome state of affairs. “Daren, correct?”

Daren nodded, looking away to the other members of his gang.

“By the bag full of zip ties, the varying uncomfortable foods and the key your friend is very poorly trying to hide, I’m going to guess that tonight was meant to be a hazing ritual,” Illumi said.

“Yeah,” Daren said.

“And you promised it wouldn’t take long, but that supplies indicates you were lying,” Illumi looked down, “I don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s not about appreciation, we’re just trying to welcome you,” Daren said.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” Illumi said, hauling his bag over his shoulder.

“The beds are over there,” Daren called after him.

Illumi ignored them. Once he turned a corner, he sprinted out into the staircase, winding his way to the nearest exit as quietly and effectively as he could into the sprawling metropolis.

“A bed, a bed,” Illumi mumbled. He spotted an emergency fire escape staircase and hopped onto it with the help of a dumpster so that he could make his way to the roof.

As he looked at the starry night, he noted that he still didn’t know why his parents sent him here. He didn’t know what he was supposed to learn. Everything just served as an inexhaustible mystery.

All he knew was that he had to treat this like a mission, like he was being hunted. He didn’t trust his parents to leave him entirely unattended, and he didn’t know who they would send to break him, nor at what intervals. That meant he couldn’t sleep in the same place twice. Every step of the way had to be calculated for maximum unpredictability. 

The day had been exhausting, and not in the ways he was used to. He would meditate before he dug himself the right bed.

Illumi rolled up his sleeve and gazed listlessly at the needles he kept in his arm. They were thinner versions then the ones he usually used. They wouldn’t kill easily like the others if he didn’t use nen. They didn’t crush through bone or stop up windpipes. They were too small to do that on their own. He would need to put energy into the impact, a command to shut down whatever organ they were placed in, but he didn’t mind. They were more practical for this mission because no one would think of looking at his bare flesh for weapons.

He plucked a piece of fine silver out of his arm and turned it in his hand. He pushed it into his forehead.

He knew how to control other people with needles. Neurology was his greatest interest and his nen tapped directly into every electric circuit in the human body. He'd grown comfortable with them, ready to to test the limits of the human experience. When he was overwhelmed Illumi used it on himself. He could shut down certain feelings, either physical or mental, to push himself into a state of calm. His sense of loyalty was found in the brain, and without constant tweaking, his mind might lead him to impure thoughts. Thoughts that could lead him to forget about the importance of his family and who he was to them.

_You are a Zoldyck, a vessel of your parents, when you worry, you act for them, when you question, you erase your complaints, that is who you are. _

__

“Hello, sweetheart,” Melissandre said. Illumi’s face lit up and he became gooey. He liked being treated delicately. When she gave him cute nicknames, his demenour would change to that of a glowing child, one younger and less jaded then the outer shell he put on. Melissandre often wondered about his family situation, but she knew thinking about it too hard wouldn’t help. She was his self-appointed guardian his parents be damned, and if she could help him with his self-esteem, all the better.

“You ready to make cookies?”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes gleamed. At first she thought she would only be teaching a bunch of kids how to protect themselves from muggers or what have you, but the more parents found her, the more she realized that she could run a fulltime daycare in this bis and everyone was happy. She was making money off the fights and from parents leaving their children for playtime.

The youngest child was a tiny girl named Cherry who still sucked her thumb and liked picking strange things off floors.

“Thomas, tell your mother we’re going to the communal kitchen!” Melissandre said. Illumi was the first of the children she came across who didn’t appear to have a guardian in her little daycare. Most of the older kids his age who she assumed to be orphans or runaways had their own gang connections. Illumi didn’t appear at all interested in joining those groups. She couldn’t help but be glad for it.

Illumi was rather like a domesticated cat at an old lady’s house more than a child. While the others bickered, he watched intently, sometimes looking to her to clarify concepts of childhood she’d never thought needed to be explained. It was like he lived in an entirely different reality. 

“Why do they like sugar so much?” Was the newest question of his volley of odd inquiries.

“Children tend to have more developed taste buds than adults,” Melissandre said. “Don’t you like cookies? I thought you were excited to make them.”

Illumi stirred the batter pensively, “I don’t think I can taste them,” he said.

Melissandre was a little taken aback to say the least.

“All foods taste a bit like char,” he said softly.

“Illumi,” Melissandre said, “I know this is a strange question, but can you stick out your tongue for me?”

He nodded and did so. Melissandre stared at the organ with disgust. “Oh, fuck.”

His tongue returned into his mouth and he regarded her expectantly.

“It doesn’t look normal,” Melissandre said, “It looks … destroyed.”

“Yes,” Illumi said. 

“No, not just yes,” she said, “Why is it like that? What happened?”

Without looking behind him, he stopped Cherry from toppling over with the flour. His reflex so quick Melissandre wondered where that speed went when they were training.

“Be careful, remember your balance,” Illumi said to Cherry. He turned back to his mixing bowl, “Sometimes I burn my tongue,” he said to Melissandre.

That was it, his very simplistic explanations for things that were definitely not normal. She’d heard these kinds of responses before from her time at the women’s center.

“Do you burn it or does someone burn it for you?”

“Both,” he replied. "But it's new, it will heal."

Melissandre pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, the sight of his tortured tongue frozen in her mind. That didn’t look like regular burns. A tongue was supposed to have a very specific look to it. Nothing like what he used. Yet he spoke normally, it was bizarre.

“Ahh!” Thomas tripped over the flour bag Cherry had deposited earlier on the floor. In a single, earth shattering explosion of flour, everyone found themselves absolutely covered.

Melissandre couldn’t have stopped it, no one could have. The five or so other children were coughing around and she was at loss.

“It’d be a shame if something happened to them, don’t you think?” This wasn’t the voice of anyone she knew. She looked up to see a group of older kids attracted to the kitchen by the enormous ruckus. One pulled out a pink lighter.

Melissandre barely had time to blink before Illumi vaulted himself over counter and snatched the lighter from the older kid.

“There will be none of that,” Illumi said calmly. “Please find yourself another kitchen to work in,” he said.

The much bigger kid looked down at him with such shock and conflict that Melissandre was momentarily afraid she’d have to hurl herself over the counter to stop Illumi from being hit. However, the teen didn’t look upset at all, he was in awe.

“Do I recognize this hatsu?” The teen said.

“Hisoka, what are you talking about?” another asked.

Hisoka, who just gotten his lighter stolen was gazing at Illumi like he was the Messiah reborn.

“I think,” he leaned down to get a closer look, his breath in Illumi's face. Illumi didn’t step back at all. Melissandre assumed he was merely looking at the teen named Hisoka with that same idle look he gave everything. “I recognize this one.”

-

Illumi stared down Hisoka, whose idea minutes ago had been to fire bomb a kitchen full of children covered in flour. He crushed the lighter in his palm, gasoline dripping down his flour and batter covered fingers.

“Are you the Zol—”

Illumi stepped forward and placed his foot on Hisoka’s, putting pressure on it as a warning.

“Oh?” Hisoka said. He looked up at the others in the kitchen. “Is she one of your butlers?” he asked, leaning down to whisper in Illumi’s ear. The boy’s voice was lower than the last time Illumi heard it.

“She has no relation,” Illumi said. “Now,” he noted that some of Hisoka’s gang of teens looked confused. Maybe they hadn't known what fire and flour did. How the molecules of starch exploded when ignited. “We should take this to the cafeteria. Unless you want to help clean?” 

Hisoka laughed breathlessly, “Yes, let’s take this outside.”

Illumi retracted his foot and turned to Melissandre, “I will speak to them. Don’t worry.”

“Uh, yeah. But if I hear fighting,” Melissandre left out the end of her thought, but the meaning was clear all the same.

Illumi almost rolled his eyes. As if she’d be able to _hear_ him fight. All these rusty teen boys with their gangly limbs and prison flip knives would fall like trees at the first sign of pain. That was all of them except Hisoka. He was the only one Illumi felt he might need a couple more minutes to floor.

Illumi waited until they were in the bustling cafeteria to turn to Hisoka. He had no interest in addressing any of the others. “Why are you with these amateurs?” he asked.

He could feel the nearest one sputter. “Sorry, bowl cut said what—”

Hisoka, however, looked painfully amused.

“It _is _you. I’ve been wondering when I’d see you again, princess.”

Illumi looked unimpressed at his horrible attempt at a nickname.

“No longer wearing your mother’s clothes?”

“No, she has another son for that. Though he’s looking a little bigger than I was,” he trailed off absently.

“You asked me why I was hanging with amateurs,” Hisoka said, “But you’re over there with other children. I can’t say I took you for the kind who needs a babysitter.”

“She is teaching me to bake cookies,” Illumi handed Hisoka his broken lighter, making sure to smudge his hand with gasoline as he did. "My brothers will be very happy when I make some for them."

“I think you have the better deal,” Hisoka said, looking back at the group who probably considered him one of them, though they likely hadn’t spent enough time with him to know that he was a training them into exactly the kind of prey he wanted to bite his teeth into when they were ripe.

“The only way you can know is when they’re ready,” Illumi countered pleasantly.

Hisoka cracked an amused smile. “What level are you, princess?”

“One,” Illumi said. He watched Hisoka’s face fall.

“That’s not right,” he said. 

“I’m not ripe,” Illumi said.

Hisoka grabbed for Illumi in a powerful instant and found himself throat down on the pavement of the cafeteria. Illumi’s nails bit into the soft flesh of Hisoka’s arm which he had twisted behind his back.

“You’re not ripe,” Illumi said, letting go of Hisoka. The rest of the gang whistled. Illumi was midway in the act of reaching for a needle, ready in case Hisoka's ego got the better of him when Melissandre’s voice filtered through the cafeteria.

“Illu?” she said, quickly coming to his side.

Illumi looked up at her, bored eyes a bit more calculating until they became a bit less terse. More rounded, more childlike.

Hisoka flipped onto his back and looked at Illumi like a cat in the sun, like he had meant to lay on the floor this way. 

“I have to go,” Illumi said.

Hisoka's beamed. Oh, this ... this was interesting.


	4. Prickly

For the next couple weeks, Melissandre noted the teen with the brightly coloured hair was circling her daycare. She would see him shuffling cards at nearby tables, leaning on pillars, visiting casually without approaching them enough to call him out on it. She didn’t know what level he belonged in which innerved her more.

It was only as she was training the children on the mats, making them do practice kicks that he first approached with intention to speak to her. One minute she was sitting near the matts watching to make sure no one got injured and next she heard that annoying shuffling. He was sitting next to her in all his comfort. He smelled sickly sweet, like a mix between candy and death. Melissandre wasn’t the kind to notice smell but this kid reeked it.

“I’m Hisoka,” he said.

“Melissandre,” she replied curtly.

He was looking directly at Illumi where he was helping Pier do high kicks. Illumi wasn’t particularly good at it himself but he was a great teacher. She barely had to do anything. He fell into place as a teacher and student without needing to ask him.

“Interesting group you have,” Hisoka said.

“Not really,” Melissandre said, side eyeing him. “They’re just kids. I don’t think there’s much they’re learning that you don’t already know.”

Hisoka went quiet but his smile was as innerving as anything.

“Why are you always here?” Melissandre said, “You’re disrupting the class.”

“Am I?”

“Look, kid, you’re making people uncomfortable. We don’t need a stalker,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Hm, if you don’t want me around, you can fight me. I’m sure that would deter my interest,” he said.

She was certain it wouldn’t.

“It’s just Illumi,” he said. It took her a moment to connect Illu’s name with its full form. She felt slow realizing it.

“Do you know him?” Melissandre said.

“Oh, yes, a little,” he said with a secretive glint, “I tried breaking into his house once. He wasn’t happy with my presence.”

“Nobody would be,” Melissandre said. She realized that this kid wasn’t just a stalker, he had criminal intent past what she’d originally thought. Maybe she would have to fight him. He was mapping her daycare, putting himself in her way.

“Hisoka,” Illumi called. He stood a couple feet from the teen, “You’re causing trouble. Don’t you have a life?”

“This is my life,” Hisoka said.

“It’s pathetic,” Illumi said softly. Melissandre had never seen him take that tone before. Well, it wasn’t so much that the tone had changed, it was more like there was a minor depression in the air when he said it. She would have clapped if something about the whole exchange didn't raise the baby hairs on the back of her neck. In the end, she chalked it up to being near Hisoka. 

“We’re friends, aren’t we, princess?” Hisoka said.

“No,” Illumi said, “You threatened to kill my family,” Melissandre nearly choked.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Hisoka said, “I don’t regret it. You were very interesting when I said it.”

“Are you threatening to kill anyone here this time?” Illumi said.

“No, not yet,” Hisoka said, batting his eyes.

Melissandre glanced at the street rat with cards and grimaced. He was just so horrible.

“Carry on,” Illumi said, turning back to the matts.  
  


* * *

“Projectiles, really Hisoka?” Illumi spoke so quietly that between his impossibly quiet steps and his lack of breathing, Hisoka nearly startled out of his skin.

“I had to try,” Hisoka said as smoothly as he could.

“There is not a projectile I cannot catch, nor knife I cannot take,” Illumi said, “You know that.”

“Then, I’ll poison Melissandre,” Hisoka said.

“And I’ll test her food before she eats it,” Illumi countered.

“For an assassin, you’re very good at keeping people alive.”

“As a big brother, I have to be,” Illumi said. Something metal touched Hisoka’s neck, small but cold. Hisoka didn’t move, the weapon all too familiar. After his attempt on the Zoldyck mansion, he’d pulled at least a dozen of these out of his body. None were placed to kill.

“Why do you keep me alive?” Hisoka said, leaning into the blunt side of the needle.

“Because you don’t know what to do with it,” Illumi said, retracting his weapon between two fingers. Hisoka couldn’t help but feel that that was the closest Illumi could ever get to a joke.  
  
  


* * *

A couple weeks later and Melissandre was starting to get used to Hisoka sitting near her. He mostly concentrated on his cards but sometimes he looked up at Illumi.

“Are you trying to recruit him?” she asked him.

“For what?”

“For your little gang.” She said.

“No no, he’s far too advanced. He wouldn’t like it there at all,” he said.

She frowned, “Advanced?”

Hisoka looked up from his cards, catlike eyes bright.

“Oh, you don’t know?” he said, “He’s an expert fighter. Far too dangerous for a place like this. He’d take all of my attention, and I’d forget why I joined to begin with,” he said like he was revealing a secret.

“You’re out of your mind? He’s twelve,” Melissandre said. “He doesn’t even punch without his thumb in his hand.”

Hisoka looked amused, “All in the details,” he mused, “He’s strange that way.”

It occurred to her, “Are you fantasizing about being beat up by a pre-teen?”

He sat very still. She didn’t need an answer from him to know, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave us alone.”

Hisoka shuddered, but Melissandre realized with disgust it wasn’t out of fear. He turned that incredibly punchable face of his towards her in all its glory, “When you look at him, you see a little boy trying so very hard to please everyone. But I see one of our world's greatest monsters.”

“Are you sure you’re not just looking in a mirror?” Melissandre bit back.

“You are angry at me, but I’m telling the truth. Whatever you're trying to do isn't worth it. He’s not salvageable. I may not be appreciated for my presence but I am a great judge of character,” Hisoka said.

“I think you’re just deranged,” Melissandre said, “And completely delusional, but I’m not a therapist.” 

“Maybe we’re both right. I’m deranged, but correct,” Hisoka said.


End file.
